Admirers
by Kurojouou
Summary: He couldn't stop wondering if those lips were on Ned Dayne's now. If he was pressing her against a wall and kissing her lips and if she liked it, more than she liked Jon's.


The feast was magnificent in the least. Jon would have wanted something smaller, something _less_. But it was Daenerys' coronation day, and Sansa, being Sansa, wanted to celebrate, saying it had been a long while since the men had a good time. She wasn't wrong. The men needed their enjoyment and share of wine, after losing most of their comrades in battle, and nearly losing their own lives.

"That's the least a Lord could do," Sansa had said, with the all familiar sneer on her face, although it would take a while for a oblivious man to catch it.

Sansa and Jon were on good terms. He loved her, and as impossible as it may have sounded years ago, he could vouch that she loved him too. But at times, she couldn't help but become Catelyn Stark, especially when Jon fell short on his duties as the Lord of Winterfell. She reminded him, most of the times with a snide remarks, of what he was supposed to do and specifically _not_ supposed to do. Ladyship suited her in a way Lordship didn't suit him, and she knew it. He wouldn't blame her for being unpleasant however. It wasn't really her fault. She had spent years with the manipulating mockingbird that some of his cruelness had rubbed off on her. Jon tried his best to ignore it, and he mostly succeeded.

Jon spent a few minutes reading aloud the raven Daenerys had sent to him, to be heard by everyone in the North. It was mostly about her promising them peace and prosperity. Most of the men yawned in boredom, and even Arya beside him scoffed her annoyance at the length of it.

After that, came the guests. Sansa and Jon greeted them with courtesy, while Arya lazily stuffed her food inside her mouth. She hated greeting people, especially because she hated smiling at strangers and acting as if she liked them. It was worse when they were Lords or Ladies, Jon had found out over time. Arya actually tried when it were soldiers or other smallfolk, and her annoyance only seemed to be directed towards the upper class.

Not that Jon was complaining. It was obvious most of them wanted to touch Arya's hand or kiss it, and it pleased him to see her direct refusal, sometimes even with a warning in her grey eyes when they asked more than once. His little cousin was now ten-and-seven, a woman grown, and in Sansa's eyes a perfect opportunity to garner an alliance. Most of the Lords in Westeros were newly appointed to their houses, as many of the older family members had perished in the war. The Stormlands, The Reach, and even Dorne had young Lords in the line of succession, who would be more than joyous to wed Arya. It didn't matter that the whole of Westeros feared her abilities; she was a Lady, an important part of the North, a _Stark_.

And it didn't help that she was dangerously attractive.

Arya wouldn't know that, not with her being busy most of the days either with a sword or a dagger or both. She wouldn't know that even with her breeches and dirty tunic, the men stole glances at her every minute. She wouldn't realize it, and she wouldn't care, but Jon did. It filled his head and body with rage, and it had took him immense self-control to not geld his men everytime they looked at her.

He drank two glasses of wine in hurry, asking for more. Sansa shook her head at him but said nothing. Jon finished half of the wine and pushed the goblet down hard enough on the table to make the pretty Lord in front of Arya jump in surprise. Arya raised her brow, and her smirk grew as she snatched the goblet from his hands, and drank the rest of the wine, making sure to look him right in the eyes as she did so.

She sneaked her hand down his arm, and Jon felt himself stir. Arya chuckled at his discomfort, and leaned in close to his ear, breathing down his neck. He tilted his head slightly to hear what she wanted to say, but she said nothing. She only slipped her hand down his arm to his inner thigh, and Jon had to grab the table and bite his lip to stifle his groan.

He cursed the wine, cursed himself and cursed her. Arya moved her hand upwards, and Jon saw her run her tongue along her lips. His eyes rested on the top of her gown, which now suddenly seemed more revealing than before. Arya's hand was now closer to his hardness than he'd want it to be, especially not in front of a hundred men, and Sansa sitting next to them. He glanced momentarily at the red-headed woman, but she was busy speaking to her husband, Harry, and seemed oblivious to what was going on right beside her. Jon closed his eyes in a sigh as Arya's hand moved right on top of his cock, now straining against his breeches. He waited for her hand to move, lips opening and closing in anticipation, but was surprised by the sudden loss of contact of her warmth.

His eyes opened only to find himself looking at a boy standing in front of them. He looked younger in age with his youthful face and dark blue eyes. His pale blonde hair reminded Jon of his half-brother Aegon.

The boy smiled sweetly at Arya, his eyes turning purple. Jon waited for Arya to bid him away, but she didn't. Instead, she stared at him long enough for her face to turn from one of surprise to one of happiness. She rose from her seat abruptly, in her unladylike way, and moved to walk right in front of the blonde boy, who was now grinning from ear-to-ear. Jon felt all of his earlier excitement slip away, and his jealousy returning, but this time mixed with fear.

"Ned," Arya said, excitedly, like a child. A voice she barely used with anyone expect Jon.

"Lady Stark," the boy said and smiled good-heartedly. Jon clenched his fists under the table.

Arya scrunched up her nose, but her smile never left her face.

"I'm so very happy to see you again," Ned said, and in a surprising moment for both him and Jon, Arya jumped at him and held him in a hug. The boy Ned laughed and his cheeks turned darker.

The entire hall stared at the two young people, and Jon heard Sansa hum in approval.

The next thing he knew, Arya was introducing her _friend_ to him and Sansa. Edric Dayne of Starfall, whom she lovingly called 'Ned'. The boy changed his behaviour suddenly, and seemed to be more nervous around him and Sansa. Jon tried his best to sound calm, and Sansa's attempt at trying to hide her interest failed miserably. Jon knew what she was thinking, and it made him sick to the stomach. That and the sight of Arya's arm latched around Ned's. Before long, she was dragging the boy away as he muttered his apologies, and throwing a quick look at Jon, Arya took him out of the hall.

"Isn't he sweet?" Sansa asked Jon, as soon as they were out of sight. Jon wanted to drink, or punch something. Anything other than _this_. He absentmindedly reached for his goblet but found out it was empty, and raised his hand to the servant girl to fill it for him.

"Starfall is far from Winterfell," Sansa kept speaking, not paying attention to Jon at all and still looking at the direction at which Arya had dragged _her Ned_. Jon never wanted to hear that name again, and he would hate it instantly if not for Lord Stark.

"But I heard it's very pleasant. Warm, but pleasant. It would take Arya a while to settle in, but knowing her, she would probably like it. What do you think, Jon? Wouldn't she like it? Women are freer in those parts than here. She could do as she pleases, and that boy is clearly besotted with her. She would rule his heart."

Jon temper flared, and he angrily pushed his chair back. The servant girl that was pouring him the drink, hastily drew back and muttered apologies, fearing she had done something wrong. Jon waved her away, and turned to look at Sansa.

"Arya is not marrying," he said darkly, his voice deeper than usual.

Sansa looked at him as if he was mad, and scrunched up her nose.

"You've drank too much. And yes, Jon, she will marry. If you expect her to stay close to Winterfell, you should've convinced her earlier to marry a Northern Lord, instead of helping her drive them away."

Jon's head was hurting, and he wanted to leave.

"Seven Hells, Sansa," he muttered standing up. Arya and Edric were nowhere to be seen. "You truly are annoying sometimes."

He heard her sharp intake of breath, but he didn't look at her or stop. He walked down to where his chambers were, ignoring the courtesies from some of the people around. He felt his words would hurt Sansa, and he would ask for her forgiveness a thousand times over the next day, but he had not the will to do it now.

The warmth of his room felt familiar and as he laid on his bed, he felt a sense of shame for being so emotional over a little hug, and muttered curses again, mostly at himself and some at her. He touched the sheets with his fingers, remembering the times he'd taken her in this very bed, the times he had made her scream and beg. His throat went raw thinking of Arya in that revealing dress again, the evil way in which her lips curled when she looked at him, and at the same time he couldn't stop wondering if those lips were on Ned Dayne's now. If he was pressing her against a wall and kissing her lips and if she liked it, more than she liked Jon's.

In the midst of his uncomfortable thoughts, the door to his chambers opened with a creak. Jon raised his head to look and send away whoever had come, but stopped midway when he realized it was _her_.

Arya locked the door behind her, and with the same happy smile on her face as before, strode to where he was and sat on the side of the bed.

"You look happy." His words slurred.

Arya raised her eyebrows and leaned down to take a sniff at him.

"You're awfully drunk," she commented. He wasn't. He could take more than six glasses and still not be drunk. It was not the wine that was making him dizzy.

"So where is your friend?"

Arya's eyes narrowed. Jon's looked at her neckline, at the way her chest rose and fell slowly.

"He's in the Hall. I bade him goodnight and came here when Sansa told me you had left."

"Did you _kiss_ him goodnight, then?" His voice was mocking.

Arya stared at him in shock, then shrugged. She stood up from the bed and turned, facing away from Jon.

"Undress me," she whispered.

Jon felt goosepimples on his skin at her voice, low and husky, and he slowly left his bed and moved to her. His hand touched her at her neck, and Arya sighed, moving her hair away from her nape with her finger. Her skin was pale, and Jon hungrily let out his tongue to glide over her neck, tasting her like she was a meal.

"I don't remember you ever mentioning a Dayne to me," he whispered hoarsely, biting softly as his fingers made a slow work of the laces at her back. Her impatience spurred him on, but he wouldn't hurry. He wanted to torment her like she had tormented him.

"It never came up." Her voice turned to a sigh as he unlaced the upper part of her dress and licked the revealed skin with his tongue.

"You stared at him quite a while." He was burning. His gripped her waist and kissed down her back, unlacing her in the process. He was failing at his resolution. It was hard not to rip everything away from her body at once.

Arya stopped his hands with her own, and Jon groaned, annoyed at the interruption. She turned, her bodice hanging low enough to reveal a pale, white breast. Jon felt himself growing hard at watching her dishevelment. When he looked at her face, he saw her eyes glinting with mischief.

"What can I say," Arya said, tugging her dress down to her pool at her waist. "He was way too handsome."

Jon growled in anger, and harshly kissed her, biting her lip in punishment. Arya grinned and seemed pleased at his reaction as her he picked her up and placed her on his bed with a thud. Jon saw her eyes darken with lust as he moved his mouth down her body and took her nipple in his mouth, while his hands quickly pulled her wretched dress completely away from her, throwing it across the floor, along with her underclothes. He barely heard her complain of Sansa being angry, as his vision was blurring with the blood boiling in his veins. He held himself up on his palms on top of her, and left her breast to look at her completely naked beneath him.

He would be damned if he let another man look at this.

"Jon," Arya whispered. Her eyes were dark, but her voice was soft, and her small hands cupped his cheeks as she leaned up to look at him.

"How could you even think I'd let someone else-"

He cut her off with a searing kiss. She was his doom, with all her anger and mischief and softness. It startled him to think of her as someone who could be so gentle to him. Her hands had punched people bloody and used a sword as easily as any man, and the same hands caressed him so gently that he thought she would break him.

"Tell me you love me," he demanded, urgently, like his life depended on it. It was silly of him to think that she didn't, but he needed assurance, just in case some Lord came and stole her from him. Some Lord with a castle and a name and some Lord who was more worthy of her than him.

"I love you," Arya replied and ran her tongue between his teeth.

"I love you," she said again. "Always. Always."

Jon flipped her over, and she gasped at the sudden action but didn't complain. He kissed down her back, to the base of her spine and bit softly along her waist, his hand snaking in slowly and surely between her thighs.

"On your knees," he ordered, but his voice was gentle. Arya complied, her hair falling down by the sides of her face. Jon moved it over with his other hand, making sure he could look at her.

His fingers went inside her cunt, and Arya moaned and shut her eyes forcefully, hands clutching the sheets on his bed. Jon groaned at the sight, his cock twitching in his breeches as he moved his fingers in practice. She was so beautifully wet and warm and his control slipped away every time his fingers went inside her or stroked her clit and Arya bit on her lip to stifle her voice. She faced to her side and it made looking at her easy, and he could see she was so flushed and panting, and it filled him with pride to know that he was the only man allowed to do that to her.

Arya's voice rose in pitch, and she pushed her hips down against his hand. Jon struggled to get his breeches off of him, and he had to leave her cunt to use both of his hands to undress himself. Arya muttered something inside her mouth, clearly not pleased at losing contact. Jon hastily pulled his breeches off and taking his cock in his hand, moved it against her.

"Jon, Jon," Arya panted, and she sounded like she was going to cry.

Jon used his body to cover hers completely and pushed in her in one fast move, as Arya moaned loud enough for the whole castle to hear.

Being inside her drove him wild, as it always did. His stomach clenched in pleasure. His body increased its pace, and his bed made a squeaking noise. His hand grabbed her head and he turned it around to push his tongue in her mouth, as Arya's eyes rolled back in pleasure and she kissed him hungrily.

"I want to see your face," he whispered hoarsely against her lips. His eyes moved up and he saw the looking glass on the wall infront of them. Jon used his arms and pulled Arya back, him on his knees and Arya sitting on top of his cock. He moved her effortlessly up and down on him, and met her eyes in the mirror. Arya's mouth was open and she was gasping for air, and Jon moved his hand to her front and tweaked her nipple.

"Only I can have you like this," he whispered against her ear. The pleasure was rushing to his head, and he couldn't think clearly. Arya's cries, the way she moved on top of him and the way her breasts fell and rose in tandem with her body drove him to the brink of madness.

"You won't look at anyone else." Jon grabbed her arse with his hands and pulled her up just a little, enough for both of them to see his cock moving in and out of her, and her cunt taking him in greedily.

"Promise me," he demanded, feeling himself approaching completion. Arya was near too, her body almost shaking and shivering.

"Promise me," he said again, biting her shoulder and digging his teeth in, drawing blood. He licked the wound, tasting the irony taste of blood on his tongue, and Arya was now screaming.

"I promise. I love you, I love you. Gods, Jon!"

He felt her let go, a wave of warmth rushing all over him, leaving Arya moaning loudly, her eyes closing in pleasure.

Jon kissed her neck hungrily and grasping her waist, thrust himself into her faster and faster, until he stilled with a groan and released himself inside her. Arya moaned again in content, and reached behind to grasp his hair in her fingers, leaning back.

"I love you," Jon whispered, licking the sweat off her neck. "I love you so much."

Arya turned around in his lap and kissed him lazily. His hand touched her shoulder and Arya winced. Jon moved away her hair and tenderly kissed it again and again. He felt his heart break at the sight of blood.

"I'm sorry."

Arya smiled at him, and hugged him, his face tucked between her breasts, their bodies flush and clinging to each other.

"The whole castle probably heard me," Arya whispered. Jon laid down on the bed, and Arya moved on top of him, laying her head on his chest. She barely weighed anything at all.

"They have better sense than to say anything about it."

Arya chuckled, and ran a finger down his arm.

"What if Sansa hears? What if-" She moved her neck to look at him and winked. "What if she thinks I'm whoring around and has already decided a husband for me?"

Jon knew she was only teasing him, and her beautiful face made it hard for him to not smile at her.

"Sansa would need to go over my corpse for that." Jon played with a lock of her hair. "You'll be the death of me with all your teasing."

Arya's eyes shone with mirth.

"So, then," she said with a smirk. His eyes closed as her hand snaked down his abdomen. "I remember someone being _very_ excited at the feast."

Her hand took hold of his cock and Jon hissed.

When they finished that night, Jon couldn't remember Ned Dayne's face even if he tried.


End file.
